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He was a gambling addict, a cheat in both relationships and games, and damn near alcoholic. He was also a creep, secretly jerking off to his best friend of forty years. His male best friend, whilst having his wife in the room over. All this to say that Bertel Bäck is the farthest thing you’ll get from a saint. There was nothing to be proud of for him when he looked in the mirror. All he saw was a scammer, a liar and a pervert. Self-destruction was a natural cycle for him, once he took one wrong step there was never any chance for forgiveness. Suffering was what he deserved.
Tuplajuusto was just the right man to inflict that suffering onto him. He was way bigger than Bertel, and could toss him around as if he weighed nothing at all. As if he wasn’t worth anything at all.
Bertel was already off to a bad start that night. Once he started gambling there was no way for him to stop. There Tuplajuusto was, in the middle of it all, egging him on. The joy he felt was incomparable to anything else. When they met earlier it was love at first sight for Bertel. Or, at least it was lust. He was a big, mean looking man. His rough exterior and towering height sent shivers down Bertel’s spine, and he knew immediately that he needed him. He’d take anything he could get from him. He’d give up anything to get his mind fucked out of him at this point. Tonight that meant relapsing, betting all he had just so Tupla would take him to his cabin.
“You’re so fucking good, my little good luck charm.” Tuplajuusto roared, as they scored another win at the casino. So far, he was going home with 500 euros, no losses. “Knew we could do it.”
Bertel was already feeling the heat rising within him. Tuplajuusto put a hand on his lower back and slammed him against a table. The pain stung, but he was loving it. Tupla leaned in close to his ear and started whispering.
“How ‘bout we go back to mine and celebrate a little? I’m sure you got more talents you’re keeping hidden.”
Bertel was shaking, he couldn’t believe how easy this was. They’d only played a few games, and barely won anything, at least in his terms of success. But Tuplajuusto clearly was not used to actually getting any money back when he gambled, and Bertel couldn’t complain about his enthusiasm. He nodded passionately, and swallowed hard.
“Lead the way, partner.” As he stuttered out the last word, Tupla grabbed his arm, hard enough to leave bruises and pulled him away.
The world around him was spinning, alongside the ship’s gentle sways. Nothing else mattered. All his senses beside touch were completely numbed out, the only thing he paid any attention to was Tuplajuusto’s hands on him. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe just the thrill of relapsing. Their walking stopped abruptly and Tupla pointed towards the door to one of the cabins.
“This one’s mine.” His breath was hot against Bertel’s throat.
As soon as they’d gotten inside, Bertel threw off his suit jacket and was forced up against the wall. Tupla held him steady with just one hand. So, so strong. He pressed his knee in between Bertel’s legs, who had to bite down hard to hold back a moan. His thoughts stood completely still, eyes only focused on his lips and the slight stubble around it. He was already getting hard.
“Kiss me.” Bertel could hear his own heart beating, the excitement pumping through his veins.
“Oh, you wanna be romantic now? I thought I’d just fuck you until you couldn’t walk.” It was so humiliating, but Bertel couldn’t help how much this was turning him on. “But you’ve been so good, winning me all that money, I can spare you a kiss.”
He slammed his lips into him. It was far from gentle, so eager and fueled by adrenaline and vodka. The hand that wasn't pushing him against the wooden panels of the cabin walls found its way to Bertel’s mullet and gave a testing pull at it. He moaned, opening up his mouth for Tupla to deepen their kiss. He forced his tongue inside of him, taking all he could from Bertel. There was no denying how much he was getting off on the roughness of all this. Tuplajuusto’s hand dropped its grasp on his chest, leading Bertel to lose his footing slightly. Once his balance was thrown off, Tupla’s hands found their way around his waist, skirting up his back. He massaged the soft skin underneath Bertel’s dress shirt, only to suddenly shift intentions, dirty fingernails now dragging across hard enough to leave red marks.
“Hurt me more, Tupla.” Bertel groaned, his eyes screwed shut in a mixture of pleasure and pain. “Use me however you’d like.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, you slut.” Both of Tupla’s hands dug into Bertel’s waist, and threw him down onto the floor.
He hit the carpet with a loud thud, sure to alarm whoever was on the deck below them. The pain flowed through his body along with arousal, and for a second Bertel concluded that, yeah, this is how I’d like to die. The next moment, Tuplajuusto was on top of him, unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt. He was painfully hard, now, and his dick pressed against Tupla’s thighs wasn’t helping him. Once his shirt was completely open, it was clear to see how much his chest was heaving. Bertel was already blissed out, riding the high of getting tossed around like the worthless toy he felt he was. Tuplajuusto got closer, lying completely on top of him, hindering his breathing capability. As if this couldn’t get any better.
Without any warning, Tupla’s hand slipped underneath his belt and squeezed Bertel through his boxers. The noise he let out was embarrassingly loud.
“Such a pervert, Bäck. Aren’t you worried someone’s going to hear?” His hand left his dick and held up his chin so that Bertel was forced to look him in the eyes. “Do you want to get punished?” Bertel let out a muffled mmhng sound. “Use your words, pretty boy.”
“Yes.” Bertel was met with a hard slap to the side of his face. He thought he might start crying. This is what he deserved. Finally. Tuplajuusto then kissed his cheek, softly licking at the skin turning red.
“We’ve got a safe word, remember? Don’t be afraid of telling me off.” He whispered. The sudden kindness threw him off, and he wasn’t enjoying it.
“I won’t be needing it.” He replied, quickly. “I want it as rough as you’ll give it to me.” If Tuplajuusto frowned at this, Bertel pretended not to see it. Bertel knew what he needed, he had been so bad. He needed to suffer for all his mistakes, every fuck up. This was as close to repenting as a man like him could get.
“Alright then, my little whore. I'd be happy to fulfill your wishes, you’ve earned it.” He bit into Bertel’s neck, making him gasp.
Bertel knew of lots of ways to cope. The therapy sessions he was forced into during rehab desperately tried convincing him that he could handle things differently. He knew of the ways, but they didn’t do shit for him. Why count things you can see to calm yourself down, when you can get punched so hard you lose all capability to think? It was two birds with one stone, no more anxiety and he also got to get off on it. Breathing in a square or nature walks wasn’t going to make him cum. He wanted to be as close to death as possible, how else was he supposed to know he was truly alive?
Tupla’s mouth trailed down his upper body, nose nestled into his chest hair. Bertel’s hands roamed all over his back, savouring every touch.
“You should take a few layers off, Tupla.” Bertel stuttered out in between his moans. “You look awfully warm in that vest.” It felt wrong to tell him what to do, but he wanted Tuplajuusto naked now.
Tuplajuusto raised himself off Bertel to remove all clothing from his upper body. Once again, Bertel was amazed at the size difference between them. He could kill him if he wanted to. Bertel took the chance he had to get his shirt off fully as well. He felt so exposed and filthy. His pale skin a perfect canvas to cover in bruises. Oh, how we looked forward to seeing himself in the mirror the next morning. Maybe Dan-Ole would walk in on him changing, see all the marks on his skin. Maybe he’d get worried and force Bertel to explain himself, telling him every filthy detail of what exactly went down the night prior. Oh. Was he getting off to Tuplajuusto, or just his own fantasies? It didn’t matter.
Tuplajuusto’s naked chest pressed down onto his own, and their lips met once more. They were both sticky with sweat, the whole hut oozed of testosterone.
“Do you want me to fuck you right here on the floor, or in my bed?” He asked, breaking their kiss.
“Is that a fucking question?”
“Strip and get down on all fours, then. I’ll go get a condom.” He got off him, and Bertel whined.
Tuplajuusto left to search through his toiletry bag in the bathroom, and Bertel was left alone. As he was unbuttoning his pants, he started questioning if this really was what he wanted. Sure, he was extremely aroused, but was this pain thing only a kink to him? For Tupla it seemed to all be just a game, but for Bertel this was his life. He wasn't just getting off on it, he was using it to numb out all personal issues. All his problems could be pushed away if he was hurt. You can’t feel pain in more than one place, and that includes emotional. It wasn’t just about sex. If his thoughts got too much, if he fucked up another relationship, he craved being hurt. If there weren't any sexual partners for him to take advantage of, he’d settle for doing it himself. He’d excuse himself to the bathroom, lock the door and punch himself in the arm as hard as he could. Over and over and over again until he was sure there’d be bruises. And then four more times, just to be extra fucking sure. He’d then flush the toilet, wash his hands and go back to whatever social setting he was in, pressing down on his arm to soothe himself when it got too much again.
Bertel didn’t want to get topped tonight, but he knew it would hurt. So he had to. The entirety of the minute spent naked waiting for Tupla to come back, he used to dig his nails into his own flesh. Come on, Bertel, pull yourself together. He was extremely attracted to Tuplajuusto, and he had already agreed to let that man do anything he wanted to him. He didn’t get to change his mind now. So, he positioned himself on his hands and knees, ass raised towards the door, waiting for his lover to return.
“Such a good, eager boy, aren’t you, Bäck?” Tupla taunted as he took in the sight before him.
Bertel moaned. If he only knew. Tupla ripped the packet open and put on his condom.
He truly hated being a bottom, but the words to express that couldn’t reach him. Maybe it was because of how drunk he was, or because he didn’t want them to. He was so numb by now. He’s losing everything, what did it matter what he liked? He didn’t deserve to be enjoying himself right now. Tuplajuusto’s tongue pressed against his asshole, and he let out a deep groan. He needed to give up all control.
“Don’t prep me, just fuck me.” He whined. “Use me as a fleshlight, I don’t fucking care.”
“Bertel..?” And there was that concern again. How he wished he could make him shut up, but instead he stayed still on the floor. Like a good slut.
“This isn’t my first rodeo, Tupla. It won’t be my last, just fuck me already.” He only relaxed when he felt Tuplajuusto’s tip press against his entrance. Finally. His movements started out painfully slow, but Bertel’s moans egged him on to pick up the pace. The rough fabric of the carpet was hurting his knees and hands, and with the way his body was moving back and forward he would be guaranteed to get burns.
“Is this what you like, you fucking weirdo? You’re enjoying getting hurt?” Tupla’s hands dug deep into the waist of Bertel, gripping him with such force that his brain didn’t know what pain to focus on. He was so close, forgetting all of that reflection of ‘what he truly wanted’.
“Yes, fuck, yes, yes.” Tupla grabbed his dick, jerking him off in sync with his rapid thrusts. His ass was in so much pain, but each time that Tupla slammed into his prostate he was able to forget all about it. The sensations were too much and suddenly he came, erratically screaming Tuplajuusto’s name. His cum streaked the carpet, sure to stain. Tupla kept pounding into him until he too reached his climax with a deep groan.
“You didn't do too bad, Bäck.” He grunted, real close to Bertels ear. Tupla pulled out and tied up his condom.
“God damn.” Bertel tried to catch his breath, but he was exhausted. He was clearly not in the same shape as when he was young. “That felt so fucking good, Tupla. I loved-“
“Don’t.” Tupla interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. “Don’t talk about love. It was just sex.”
It was cold, uncaring. Bertel was already so overwhelmed, and though he knew that Tupla was right, he still felt his eyes start to sting. He hadn’t meant to say that he loved him, just that he loved the act. The pain. Don’t fucking start crying now, Bertel. How pathetic can you be? Tupla must’ve seen the sadness in Bertel’s face, despite his best attempt to hide his emotions, because quite quickly his big hands reached up to touch his face, gently stroking his cheek.
”No… I didn’t mean to hurt you, Bäck.” He took a deep breath. “Just… Love is something special. This was great sex, but love isn't like this. Love is caring, and we barely know each other.”
“Why the hell are you saying this?” He bit back, way more hostile than he intended. Bertel was so, so confused. Why was he being given a speech about the importance of real love by a man who just fucked his brains out?
“Because I can tell you’re a damaged person. You need help. I don’t know if there’s anyone you love, really love, but I promise there are people out there who love you. You deserve better than this.” The tough attitude seemed to have melted off Tupla as soon as he had come, and here he was now, pouring his heart out as if he was some therapist.
Bertel wished he was thinking about his wife when Tuplajuusto said this, but he wasn’t. His thoughts instead went to Dan-Ole. The man that cared for him more than anyone else did, he was always by his side. Damnit, why was he naked in a strange man’s bed thinking about his best friend? He was still so drunk, and would have a hell of a hangover tomorrow if he didn’t get up soon to get some water. It was like his body had stopped working, he was so worn out and just tired. Tired of being told what to do, tired of never being content with what he had.
“C’mon Bertel, get up. You gotta shower and go back to your friend before he notices something’s up.” Tupla took a hold of Bertel’s arm and scooped him up in his arms. “You look like absolute shit, my little lucky charm.”
He felt like shit too.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed. “You on for another round tomorrow again?” Bertel gave him his classic, charming smile, a silent beg to extend this escape from reality they’d created together. Tuplajuusto could say he was a broken man, sure, but he couldn’t deny that they had something. Maybe it wasn’t healthy, per se, but it felt damn good.
“Gambling or fucking?” He gave a deep laugh and stroked Bertels forehead, pushing his hair away, damp with sweat.
“Both?”